


Why don't you be the writer

by QueenofFennoscandia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Angst, Art, Childhood, Ellie Goulding - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Growing Up, Human AU, Humans, Literature, Mutual Pining, Pining, Romance, Song fic, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Writer, artist, or something
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 04:16:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3367472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenofFennoscandia/pseuds/QueenofFennoscandia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After every letter the boy became more alive. He doesn’t have to be real, Derek thought as he wrote more and more.</p><p>But,</p><p>how can he not be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why don't you be the writer

When Derek was eight, he made _him_ up. And by him, I mean, a boy. If to be honest, _he_ had been in his mind for some time already before he actually laid _him_ to the paper. At first he had tried to draw _him_ but he got too frustrated and he accidentally broke his sister’s – Laura’s favorite yellow mug in the progress. He got mad and started to smash things. It was not _him_. It looked wrong. Derek’s hands were not doing any of the lines right.

He remember Laura crying and his other sister, Cora hiding behind their mom, who was fuming. Soon his rage was gone and all that was left behind was sad, empty feeling. He did not apologize, so his mother grounded him. She ordered him to his room. Derek sat on his bed alone and stared at the brown and the yellow crayon he had earlier picked out from the package. They were not quite right.

 

* * *

 

 

It was only two months after, when his father was having a glass of whisky. Derek stopped in his tracks and just stared at the glass.

When his father noticed what his son was staring, he just raised his eyebrow and said, “You’re not having any.”

Derek had no desire to have any of that awful drink – Laura had stuck her finger in their dad’s glass before and told Derek to taste. It had been awful and he was horrified why would dad want to drink that. Laura had laughed so hard that she ended up lying on the floor coughing.

“What color is this,” he asked stepping closer to stare at the drink.

“What?” his father looked confused, “I don’t know, whisky? Brown?”

“It’s not just brown,” he had complained because the boy was not satisfied with his father’s description, because Derek knew that this was so much more. He held the glass close staring at the liquid.

“It’s brown to me,” his father shrugged smiling, “Now, give me my glass.”

But instead of giving it back, he ran off to the backyard where his mother was reading to Cora. Derek thought it was waste of time, because his sister was stupid. Really, never listened anything he tried to say. She always took his stuff. But mom, she was smart so he went to her offering the glass.

She let out a laugh, “No, but thank you for offering.”

“No!” he exclaimed, “I want you to tell me what color this is,” the boy said seriously.

“Um,” his mother looked closer. Cora was sitting next to her scrunching her eyebrows like she was trying to think too. It was not adorable, like at all. “Whisky brown,” Talia Hale finally said. Derek huffed not saying anything, and she could tell that he was not happy. So she raised the glass so that sunlight reflected from it, and then she said, “Amber.”

A smile appeared to Derek’s face. He could hear his father shouting from the house to him, but all Derek could think was that this was the color.

The boy tried to resist but in the end he gave the glass back to his dad. Instead of trying to draw him, for now on Derek wanted to write every word that described the color of _his_ eyes.

 

* * *

 

As Derek turned twelve he could describe the sound of _the boy’s_ laugh. He would sound a bit silly, childish – well more childish than Derek, because the boy would not be more than seven. That bright eyed child would appear on his notebook where Derek wrote every day. It was hard sometimes because the boy would not stay still. He would jump from page to page making mess in the older boy’s writing. Sometimes Laura would stand behind her little brother as he sat in front of his desk writing, stopping, staring at the pages – writing again.

He huffed when he did not know how to express something that he had thought in his head. Derek scrunched his dark thick eyebrows and Laura poked between them saying, “They’re going to grow attached if you keep doing that.” Then she would laugh hours at Derek’s horrified expression. At that time Derek used to sulk a lot – well maybe it would not be just a phase.

His parents started to notice his fixation to certain “character” he always wrote about. When Derek got home from school he would lay his basketball to the floor and pick a pen.

“Maybe it’s a something like diary,” his father said to Derek’s mother on one evening before they fell asleep.

For Derek it was not about his life or just some story. It was something that lived on its own – a boy with eyes like crescent moon as he laughed.

 

* * *

 

One day Derek came home feeling angry, misunderstood, confused and he wanted people to realize that, so he made Stiles understand. On those pages the little boy shed a tear, another one and he cried and cried whole evening. It was ten pm when there was no more ink left on Derek’s pen and he finally stopped and took a look at the pages. Maybe from now on the amber eyed boy would not be so carefree. Something would snap in his little brain when he felt anxious and for now reason he could not stay still because at that evening Derek’s hand could not stay unmoved.

With a blank expression Derek closed that notebook without looking it ever again and pushed it behind of all the other books he had on his shelf.

In two months Derek would not remember the reason he had felt so weak while writing on that _one_ day.

 

* * *

 

Derek was fourteen year old boy, who was staring at the computer screen. Half empty page stared at him back. He had been writing about the boy for six years and he could not stop. It was kind of like having a friend you knew about everything.

 _Would it be weird writing about how he smelled like_ , was the last thought Derek had before he lifted his fingertips from the keyboard. Laura would want to read it – she always does and Derek does not even know why. It is just some silly writing, or so Derek says without ever actually meaning it. He would not joke about the boy. Too precious to share, too vivid to exist.

Derek erased the last sentence from the document he had written on the computer and picked up a little moleskine from his pocket and wrote the words there instead. Laura did not need to know it anyway. This was for him, just for him to know.

 

* * *

 

On that very same year Derek wrote more than he ever had. And after every letter the boy became more alive. _He doesn’t have to be real_ , Derek thought as he wrote more and more.

But

_How can he not be?_

 

* * *

 

Derek had a lot of friends. You could say that he was popular at school, so Laura said, Derek disagreed. Well, they always did anyway.

But in his writing there would not need to be too many people. Amber eyed boy with a dotted skin would not need many friends, or so Derek thought. He did not admit that maybe he was being selfish, because he was not, okay? It is not like any of it was real anyway. Who cares? So for now on, there would be a one friend who would be there smiling with the hyperactive child. Derek tilted his head after reading what he had earlier written. Maybe all he wanted was to have a friend like this one? _The boy_ was lucky, but he also deserved this - the other boy with a crooked smile. Derek felt more satisfied than ever as he saved the file to the computer. A smile was still on his face when they ate dinner.

“Is your face broken?” asked Laura.

Cora giggled because apparently she had grown to think that her sister was the most hilarious person ever, and it was even funnier when Derek was the one suffering.

Derek huffed and ignored both of his sisters.

“How’s the boy with dozens of moles,” Laura grinned widely and stuffed something orange to her mouth.

“Fine,” Derek muttered.

“That doesn’t say much,” Laura complained loudly.

“It doesn’t say anything at all” Cora parroted Laura.

“He and his friend went fishing and you could guess which one fell to the pond,” Derek finally commented and took a gulp of milk.

Laura tried not to laugh while she had food in her mouth but soon she was coughing, “Oh god I love that boy. I don’t even know how you made up such a character. Trying to act all stoic and serious,” she finally managed to swallow it all down.

“Manners Laura,” their mother complained.

“I’m not trying anything,” Derek pushed the food on his plate.

“Oh he was with the puppy faced guy,” Laura smiled, “I like him. Seems nice, again, unlike the writer himself.”

“Shut up.”

He could not fall asleep next night so he wrote a few pages about _the boy_ ’s restless sleep, kind of hoping that the other would not remember any of it in the morning.

 

* * *

 

Derek was fifteen and he was in love. She was older and beautiful. Sometimes he would write about her – not like he wrote about the boy. He found a way to describe her in poems. She had a golden hair and devilish smile that he adored. This woman was shiny and new, making Derek’s heart beat fast and unevenly. It must have been love, so in the heat of moment he felt that _the boy_ would also fall in love with a girl.

She would have a fiery red hair – it was almost like a warning color not to get too close. The boy would give her his every smile he had to spare but she would not really notice him – just like Kate. Kate was more than Derek, so he couldn’t have her. She was so much more and for now, he was okay with it. But before Derek noticed it, he was in so deep that it was hard to breath. This beautiful woman gave him her attention time to times. They would talk and she would smile, and Derek knew he would be so broken.

 

* * *

 

On the year when Derek turned sixteen he felt angrier than ever. Nothing went as it was supposed to be and he felt like he was changing and turning into something he couldn’t completely recognize anymore. Time went too fast, it went too slow.

In late February Derek’s grandmother passed away and he felt crushed. It was the first time he actually had lost someone and it felt worse than anything had ever felt before. He did not write anything for fifteen days until finally in anger he wrote how the cells in amber eyed boy’s mother’s body would start to kill themselves one by one.

On October the woman with brown hair, much like her son’s, let out her last breath and forgot to take one in. Derek ran to his sister’s room in the middle of the night and shook her awake. At first she groaned and complained sounding annoyed but then she noticed her brother crying, which she had not seen him doing in years.

“Derek, Derek? What’s wrong?!” she grabbed Derek’s shirt, trying to hold him closer.

A settle light emerged out of the gap between the curtains. Laura could see his tear stained cheeks, “Derek! You need to talk to me.”

“I killed her,” he choked out suddenly.

“No, no, you wouldn’t do that,” Laura muttered sounding comforting.

“But I did, Laura, I did. I can’t erase it, it’s written and I tried to. So, so, so many times. Again and again and– “ he sniffed.

“Der-“

“I can’t rewrite it!” came out as a shout, “I wrote it, so why won’t it just disappear?”

For some reason it had to be written.

 

* * *

 

Derek was seventeen when Kate broke him just like it was supposed to happen. She left a burn. He could not understand why, but he did not want to be in love. Not now, not ever again.

The boy with a cupid bow lip was still in love, Derek knew that that very same love would never get to bloom. The boy does not need to burn. The fierce red head could burn all by herself, the boy do not need this love. It is not like Derek got what he wanted.

This was the decision he made.

 

* * *

 

They were visiting their family’s lake house on the summer when Derek was nineteen. Laura and he both were laying on the grass in the middle of the night – just staring at the sky.

“I can’t stop thinking about him. I can’t concentrate without random things popping into my head all the fucking time. He’s there,” Derek tapped his forefinger against the temple of his head, “every passing second.”

“You don’t even know his name,” Laura murmured back at him.

“No,” he rolled over so that he could see his sister, “but I know him.” He sighed, “Even better than I know you or anyone and you guys are my family. How can it even be so?”

“That’s messed up,” Laura commented, not really helping.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t know what he looks like,” she pointed out.

“I do,” for some reason it felt like he had to say it.

“It doesn’t count that you can count the moles on his face.”

“Shut up,” there was no heat in his words.

“No way in hell I’d miss a chance mocking you.”

“It’s just – you know it’s getting too much. I’ve started to realize how weird it is, I mean, am I just making it all up in my head?”

Laura made a sound that made Derek know that she was listening.

“-And if not then what?

“I thought it was getting weird at that point when you wrote about how he smelled like,” Laura snorted.

“What...“ Derek left his mouth open, “How did you-?“

“Come on Derek, I’m your sister, remember? What did you expect?” her voice was low and amused.

“For fuck’s sake,” he groaned and he could hear Laura’s belly laugh just next to him.

It wasn’t like he started to hate writing about the boy – he just stopped. He knew that he was being stubborn. His hand kept wanting to keep going on but Derek kept telling himself that it was stupid, time consuming and more than anything, pointless. But he still wrote. In his notebook appeared a whole lot of poems ( _not about the boy_ , he told himself), rough sketches, short novels just about anything and everything.

He could keep going on this way.

 

* * *

 

Derek studied hard and wrote a lot in the following years. He would like to say that he got lucky, but his sisters would just beat him up for still saying that.

“You have an actual talent, Derek. Don’t you fucking dare to talk that shit again,” was what Laura had told him last Christmas.

“Suck it up and enjoy being successful you asshole. I’m not going to feel sorry for you,” Cora announced to him loud and clear.

You see, Derek had been working on with this science fiction novel and somehow it ended up being published. He was still studying in the university and it was an utterly bizarre thing to hear.

Personally, he didn’t think it would last, so he kept studying, keeping all he wrote to himself. He was more persistent to find someone to be with, a person who would be there for him. _There got to be someone_ , he thought. _Someone else._

 

* * *

 

He met Jennifer but never fell in love with her. They both liked to read same books, they had the same taste with coffee and she was beautiful with her wavy long hair and dazzling smile, which reminded him of someone. He never really knew why they started dating but it just happened. They kissed for the first time in a bar after having a few shots. The last kiss was only a month later. They went to the beach and sat on the hot sand. Their mouths felt dry against each other. That was the only way Derek could describe it.

He took his sunglasses off and faced Jennifer. She was wearing a huge summer hat and her hair looked messy – she looked happy. Derek scanned her face trying to find something from there. After not finding it, whatever it was – a feeling maybe, he ran his hand through his hair and groaned.

“Something’s wrong?”

He glanced back at her. She was perfect – _there was nothing wrong with her and nothing wrong with ‘us’_ , Derek thought. But he did not want her, need her, crave her.

She kissed him and smiled playfully.

“This doesn’t work,” was the only thing he got out of his mouth.

“It does work for me,” Jennifer grinned but when she realized that he was not joking and the expression was wiped off her face, “It doesn’t work for you,” she stated.

He did not really answer but instead turned to look at the sea.

“Let’s end this,” was not what Derek expected to hear from her mouth.

“What?” he was back looking at her startled.

Her face was serious, she did not look pissed off, just sure.

Derek gaped at first but then he ended simply saying while nodding, “okay.”

There was no hard feelings. It was over fast and it could have been weird that they stayed as friends but it was not. It had been an easy breakup.

It changed things.

After a long while he would write pages and pages full of life and _the boy_ who was now turning into a man -a few years behind Derek but still there, almost like chasing him. Derek thought that he could wait. There would be no hurry and he was tired of trying to find something in people that he hadn’t been able to see.

He ended up adding _the boy_ to the novel he had been writing. That was how a new character came alive – not completely as the same person that he had been writing about for years but as someone who was similarly awkward, hyper, melancholy and bright at the same time. Derek felt that he was more in control of this story than of _the story_ which had been taking undecided turns ever since he started writing as a child.

When that very same novel got Derek picked as a winner for some promising author contest, he did not feel just lucky anymore. It was a big seller and he felt almost shameful for having so much money in such a young age.

So what if he still was not confident with his skills, he just knew better not to say it aloud.

His family was happy for him. Laura even kept bugging him to sign copies of his books so she could brag about his brother to the ladies from her office. He let his sister have her fun.

…She did have very persuading black mailing material.

 

* * *

 

Derek picked his coffee cup from the wooden table. He brought it close to his mouth but did not drink it, just let the warm material be pressed to his lower lip.

He was stuck.

He kept blinking while staring at the computer screen, searching for something that was missing there. The last page he had been writing was crap, and when he came to the conclusion that it would not get any better, he wiped the entire page clean. Kind of satisfied with himself he decided to start over.

It helped that he was not home. Actually, because he could not get anything done at home on that day, he came to his regular café. The background noises helped him not to get too twisted with the story he had been working on for the last two months. Also, they did have those delicious cinnamon buns that Derek loved almost too dearly.

He could hear people giving their orders of coffee to the barista and some students flipping pages of a textbook. All and all, it was really calming to hear people doing their usual routines. It helped him to feel more normal too, like he could belong and blend to the crowd. He scanned through the customers before settling back to his work. Two elder women were laughing about something, a little girl complained about wanting her own little greenhouse, the mother hummed amused and someone entered to the café.

Derek glanced without thinking to the entrance where from the open door walked in a couple. The boy was talking animatedly to the girl who was grinning widely. They both had dark hair and they looked like they belonged. Derek turned to his computer placing his fingers back to the keyboard and started to write absent-mindedly. The story was coming along just fine.

His thought was interrupted by a loud bang which was followed by a girl’s startled voice. Derek didn’t really care to hear what she said, though, he did hear a boy answering sounding confused, “Yeah – yeah, I’m fine.”

“You just walked straight to a rubbish bin. Were you watching at all where you were going?” she sounded now amused.

Derek listened unaware as someone lifted the most likely fallen bin from the floor. He did not hear what the boy answered next. All he thought was that they were loud. Derek didn’t really care about noisy people. Practically, no. They take all the space with their pointless words as at the same time they’re expecting you to do the same even though you would be a stranger to them.

Derek switched to the next page, but then stopped for a second and decided to reread the paragraph he had written.

“Scott, you’re just imagining,” Derek could hear the girl saying. _How annoying_ , he sighed and continued reading.

The boy said something.

“Okay, what am I looking at?”

“Come on Allison, you’re the smarter one here,” the male voice said uneasy.

There was a pause and then,

“Oh.”

Nothing more and then it was silent. For some reason Derek looked up and his eyes locked with the pair that had been making all the noise. He looked around him quickly and then returned to stare at the word document – not really reading or writing anymore. Derek was frozen but he did not want to take a second look.

_Well this isn’t weird at all._

Derek cleared his voice and tried to focus on writing. Ignoring was the solution, _yeah_.

Derek was on his working mode again. The plot was working better than he thought. His fingers danced from the letter to letter rapidly as the words began to pour out. He could not hear the footsteps getting nearer until he sensed someone standing on the other side of his table facing him. Derek stopped typing and glanced through the glasses he was wearing. A boy shuffled his feat nervously and not far behind him the girl stood looking encouraging.

Derek pushed his glasses because they had slipped a little too low. “Can I help you?” he said slowly.

“Actually,” the boy said eyes looking determined as he sat down to Derek’s table, uninvited. Derek pursed his lips and leaned back on his chair. Something in his gesture made the younger man loose his confidence, it seemed. The girl rolled her eyes and sat down too.

“Actually,” she started at this time, “We were just thinking that you look like someone who would appreciate art.” She was smiling at Derek’s confused expression.

“What makes you think that?” he said as he took his glasses off. He could see the boy’s eyes getting slightly wider as girl’s narrowed.

“Oh I have my intuition,” she smiled warmly, “I’m Allison.” She offered her hand and something made him take it.

“Derek.”

The handshake was quickly over and the other one of his table intruders did not make any effort to try do the same. Derek did not mind.

“This is Scott,” Allison introduced them like she was in a position to do so. They nodded at each other.

“Are you writing something?” she asked.

“Were,” he said sharply as he closed his laptop. Allison did not look bothered, Scott – well he could imagine Laura ranting to let the poor boy breath.

That is why it was surprise that Scott was the one who spoke next, “You like art, right?”

What is it again about art?

“I really don’t get what you guys got to do anything about my preference of art?” Derek’s voice was stoic.

The girl smiled, “You might be right about that. Maybe _we two_ have nothing to do with it, but there’s no harm in a friendly conversation.”

Derek just made a pained expression and Allison laughed breathlessly.

“I like art just fine,” Derek muttered.

“Have you always lived here, like since you were kid? Do you have family here?” Scott was now the one talking – fast.

“No, I’ve lived here for like couple of years. Moved because of my work.” The man had decided to just talk. Maybe he get rid of them faster.

“Really,” Scott looked perplexed, “That’s strange.”

“No I think there’s nothing stranger moving here? Is there something wrong with the city?”

They both ignored his question like it did not matter. “But you have visited here before,” Allison looked at him eyes narrowed, “Like with your family or something?”

“No,” he replied confused, “Never.”

“Never?” Scott repeated him for some reason and Derek shook his head.

“Are you some kind of celebrity by chance?” Scott leaned to the table.

But before he had chance to react Allison did the same as the boy, “OR are you’re parents some kind of celebrities?”

“Good thinking, Allison,” Scott had his finger pointed up.

“No,” Derek just wanted these two to disappear, “No, why would you think that?”

“This is so bizarre,” Scott and Allison said to each other.

Derek felt left out, he hope he would be left out, completely. These two should just leave his table, walk out the door and never return. He sighed loudly.

“I honestly thought that there might be a rational explanation to – you know,” Scott was talking to Allison again.

“I thought that he was just messing around with us,” Allison said quietly and turned back to Derek looking at him up and down.

“Why would I be messing with you?” Derek growled.

“Not you,” Allison waived her hand like it did not matter when obviously it was all that matter.

“He’s my bro, he wouldn’t have been able to keep something from me since kindergarten. Anyway, what are we going to do with him?”

Honestly, Derek was just about to leave himself.

Allison furrowed her eyebrows until suddenly they rose near to hear hairline. He gave a look to Scott, who seemed to be thinking about something. Some kind of realization seemed to appear to his face and he tilted his head and after a while nodded. Derek hated couples.

“So there’s this art gallery opening. You should come,” Scott said as he laid an invitation to the table which he had gotten out from his pocket. Without breaking the eye contact he repeated, “You _should_ come.”

Derek thinned his lips as he stared at the letter on the table.

“Wait,” Allison suddenly spoke, “you should take this one too.” She smiled and dimples appeared to her face. She had placed another envelope next to the other one. “You can bring someone with you – a friend or something. I mean, it is a free chance to be all cultured and snooty without no one complaining,” she grinned.

They boy looked at the girl like she had cured the cancer and it was kind of sickly cute. They both looked ridiculously hopeful so Derek ended up picking both of the invitations from the table. “Thanks, I guess?” he did not sound too convinced yet, but they were just some invitations. Like, what big deal could some envelopes be?

“I’ll think about it,” he said shoving the envelopes to his leatherjacket’s pocket.

“You can’t miss this out, _or he will kill me_ ,” Scott said the last part almost too quietly.

“Scott, I think we need to get going,” said the girl.

The boy – Scott glanced the clock and smiled crookedly at Derek, “Be there.”

Derek shrugged.

“This is your regular coffee shop?” the girl piped up suddenly.

“Yeah,” Derek answered without thinking and soon after cursed himself for being so careless.

“Awesome,” she said brightly. “We’re trusting you,” she gave a last meaningful look and then dragged the boy away.

“Are we going to stalk him if he doesn’t show up?” the boy murmured as they rushed away.

“No, but I know who is,” was the last words the girl said before they walked out from the door to the cold November weather.

Derek put his glasses back on and ran his hand through his hair. But as he tried to work again he noticed that his motivation with writing had left along with the two.

 

* * *

 

 _“Derek! What’s the occasion?”_ Laura’s smile could be heard through the phone line as she answered with third ring.

“Why would you say that? I call you plenty,” Derek said blankly.

“Oh, keep insisting it to yourself but I know that the last time you called me was –,“ there was a pause, “on January 12th. That makes it almost exactly two weeks,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I can’t even believe I’m asking this, but do you keep a record of our phone conversations?” he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

 _“Yeah, I have a calendar just for it on my kitchen wall,”_ it sounded like she was walking while she spoke. _“Last time you complained about the weird smell inside of your fridge, but mostly it was just me talking as usually.”_

“Why Laura?”

 _“Because,”_ she reasoned, _“I like to know that you’re not drowning yourself in the bathtub because of writer’s block or something.”_

Derek was about to answer but decided that it was better to ignore the whole topic altogether.

 _“You still there?”_ Laura asked.

“Yeah.”

_“Away from the bathtub?”_

“Oh fuck off Laura,” Derek groaned. He could hear her laughing.

_“No but seriously, what’s matter? Are you in trouble? Is your ex-girlfriend blackmailing you or is your apartment flooding and you need a place to stay?”_

“What makes you think there’s a problem?” he muttered.

 _“Derek, let’s be honest. As sweet as it is that you keep claiming that you actually ever call me just to ask my wellbeing, we both know you are a pathetic liar. So explain,”_ Laura said seriously.

“I got an invitation,” he ended up saying.

 _“To where?”_ she sounded confused.

“Honestly? I’m not sure. The people who gave it to me were kind of – weird. They told me it was some kind of art thing,” He sighed.

 _“Go on,”_ it sounded like she was eating something.

"It seems a bit suspicious.”

 _“Did you get invited to some S &M dungeon or something?”_ Laura sounded way too enthusiastic.

“No. What’s wrong with you?” he glanced at the phone he was holding appalled.

_“I’m just sharing my thoughts here.”_

“It’s just some art gallery opening or something. But I don’t know, they were really odd. The whole situation was.”

_“For god’s sakes, Derek. Sometimes people talk to other people. It’s called human contact, if you’ve ever heard.”_

“I don’t know…”

 _“Listen, you go and be a cultured douche, drink some free cheap sparkling wine and don’t think too much about it,”_ Laura was ranting, _“And yes, I’ll come with you.”_

“How did you know I had an extra invitation,” he sounded suspicious.

_“Don’t question my authority considering you, lil bro. Just let me have my fun and dress up nicely for a while. Also, try to wipe that frown off your face.”_

“I’m not frowning,” Derek said. Laura laughed.

Derek’s frown got deeper.

_“Now, you got to send some of those poems you told me you’ve been writing earlier. I hopelessly need some beautifully written pining about perfect love.”_

Derek ended the call before Laura could have said more. Still, he felt a little bad about hanging up. In the end he did sent Laura some pages he had been working by email.

Laura sent a message later on that day which said: **Give me your beautiful mind, you hopeless romantic.**

Derek rolled his eyes and continued writing. Again another night ahead that he would spend awake, alone.

At 5 am he retreated his hands from his laptop’s keyboard, leaned back and stared outside to the darkness. It was snowing again.

 

* * *

 

Stiles was sitting on his worn out sofa. A broken spring was poking his lower back painfully. He really should buy a new couch. That is what Allison had told him just last week. Actually, that was what Scott had told him three years ago and it is something that Lydia likes to remind him about on every time she visits his apartment. Now that he actually has some money to spend to a decent coach he just does not feel like it. He scratched the soft brown fabric with the nail of his forefinger.

On his coffee table, a pile of sketches are laid, most of them half finished. There was probably some green or blue chalk on his face. To colors he had been using a lot lately. The colors he had chosen felt good for a change. They felt fresh, peaceful, liberating and alive. He smeared the blue on his left cheek to the pillow on his coach without knowing.

There would be a month before he had to put his works on display. He had been putting a lot of effort on his paintings lately, and people had been noticing. Stiles was doing good. The young man observed the messy room he was lying at. His eyes were fixed to the t-shirt which was grumbled next to a yucca palm which was clearly living its last moments. (Why had Lydia even bothered to buy him plants?) It was his ex-boyfriend’s shirt. Well, kind of an ex-boyfriend, ex-something. At least that is how they always felt like. Feeling annoyed just looking at it, he stood up, picked the cloth and threw it to the rubbish bin. _I never liked that shirt anyway._

Stiles walked straight to his painting room and opened the window. The cold air rushed in and he shivered. It was snowing, he noticed. He connected his phone to the speakers and a sound of violin blasted out. Then he stretched his back before sitting down in front of the canvas. Stiles let his hand hover almost touching the cheekbones of the figure in his painting. A small flicker of a fond smile passed on his face. Though, the stoic expression of the man in the picture didn’t change. Stiles sighed.

“Looking so serious all the time,” he muttered aloud, “I bet a smile would suit you really well.” There was no answer, “Suit yourself then, Sourwolf,” he pursed his lips and started to paint.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song of Ellie Goulding 'Writer'. Just something I had in my head for a while. It took some time to write it, though. I have some other stories to be finished but at the moment I felt like posting the first part of this. I wrote it mostly from Derek's point of view. There's only going to be two chapters, so already half way through.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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